maybe we are satellites
by Spinesless
Summary: Bones jumps in front of a phaser meant for his Captain.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek. T for swearing.**

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Bones doesn't like to linger on the past. He figures, what's happened has happened, and there's no way to change that: such is the way of the world. But more often than not, he finds himself pondering the life he would live if any number of defining events hadn't occurred, or had happened differently:

What if he had never met Jocelyn; what if they had never gotten divorced?

What if his dad had never fallen ill?

What if he had never enlisted in Starfleet? What if, after he did enlist, he had chosen a different seat on the shuttle?

What if he had never met Jim Kirk?

It's an interesting thought, thinking of a world where he doesn'tknow Jim Kirk, of a world where his entire life hadn't gone to hell in a hand basket, the set of events spinning into motion and allowing him to take a specific seat on the blasted shuttle.

He wouldn't be here, that's for sure, on a planet millions of miles away from Earth, taking part in some diplomatic bullshit, standing next to his captain sweet-talking some aliens into signing some treaty.

Jim's back is turned away; he's oblivious to the fact that one of the delegate's assistants currently has a rifle pointed right at him. Bones notices; Bones notices everything––he can tell without fail when something is wrong: when someone is hiding an illness, or injury, or other ailment, he just knows, habitually, instinctually, when something's plain _not right_.

He realizes that there isn't _time––_there's no time to call out, no time to shove Jim out of the way.

He doesn't think about it. The action is more instinctive than even breathing (he has to remind himself to do that sometimes). It's as ingrained as the progression of the seasons, as inveterate as him taking the hand of patient, as natural as his incessant banter with his insufferable captain.

He steps into the line of fire.

As the assistant raises the rifle, the trigger pulled sharply in an instant, Bones reflects on his _what if_ scenarios.

He thinks to himself: he'd never have this any other way.

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_TBC_ . . .

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**A/N: Thank you for reading! Feedback is much appreciated!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek. T for swearing.**

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The onslaught of consciousness is often jarring.

He regains his sense of hearing first: a soft beeping echoes in his ears along with a quiet murmuring in the background. He holds onto the sounds, using them to orient himself. He takes note of which way is up and then realizes he's lying down, nearly completely vertical. There's a blanket covering him, pulled to his collarbone, a a pillow cushioning his head. Something in the back of his mind tells him that he should be panicking, but he's not quite sure why_. _

He takes a deeper breath that seems to… pull, in a way. Okay, he thinks. That's weird. He's adjusted enough, though still a bit lost, so he opens his eyes and blinks a few times to clear his vision. He sees the sickbay ceiling and realizes he's in a private room, the ones used for seriously injured patients. Shit. Okay. Maybe now he can panic.

He hears the beeping increase in speed along with his racing heart and a figure suddenly brushes at his side. "Leonard?"

With effort, Bones turns his head. "Geoff?" he says, a touch surprised. Jesus, what the hell happened?

Doctor Geoffrey M'Benga ghosts a tricorder over Bones's body, the handheld device whirring slightly. "How are you feeling, Leonard? Any pain?"

"I," Leonard swallows and licks his lips. "No, not really." Everything is kind of fuzzy and distant, including his thoughts. Why is he in sickbay?

"I know you're disoriented, but can you tell me the last thing you remember?" M'Benga's voice is comforting and encouraging.

Bones's perpetual frown deepens. "I was planetside… for… negotiations?" He suddenly remembers why he should have been panicking. "There was a rifle! _Jim!_"

He lurches upward, because Jim is in trouble, he has to get to Jim, make sure he's safe––

_Pain_.

Bones spasms with the sudden onset of absolute _pain_––it's like what he would imagine being turned inside-out would feel like. He collapses back to the bed, shuddering, M'Benga speaking into his ear.

"Doctor McCoy, you need to calm down." But he _can't_ because _Jim_––"Leonard, _look at me_. You need to calm down. Take deep, even breaths."

Breathing is hard for some reason, despite the cannula bringing him oxygen. The breaths he manages end with a slight wheeze. They're too short, half empty. In a few minutes, the worst of the pain has passed and he has calmed down, for the most part.

M'Benga again. "Leonard, the Captain is fine." Even gentler, he adds: "Thanks to you."

Heavy blinking. "….Me?" He wracks his mind. He can't remember anything but the image of a trigger being pulled, and––oh.

_Oh._

Bones presses a hand to his forehead, suddenly exhausted. "Jim's fine? He's not hurt, at all?"

"Not a scratch. I wish I could say the same for you, however."

Bones grimaces. "How long was I out?"

M'Benga hesitates, but not for long after a quick look from Bones. He didn't stop being a commanding CMO just because he was flat on his back and injured. "Three days."

Bones lets out a low whistle. "That bad, huh?" Well, shit.

"Leonard…"

"Just tell me." He needs to know.

M'Benga's lips tighten. "Three days was to be expected, seeing as your surgery lasted just about eight hours."

"Jesus _Christ,_ what kinds of weapons do these things even _have_?"

"The rifle used a combination of blast force and a phaser-like energy beam. It was bad, Leonard." His voice quiets. "You suffered extreme burns to your thorax and abdominal regions, and the force of the impact broke two of your ribs, resulting in a punctured lung."

Bones closes his eyes, letting the doctor's words crash over him. That explains the weird breathing and particular pain. "Thank you, Geoff." For telling him. For saving his life.

"It was touch and go there for a while, Leonard. I'm glad to see you've pulled through." He clasps Bones's upper arm. "I'll let the Captain know you've awakened. You should get some rest."

At mention of the Captain, Bones opens his eyes. "Where––Where is the Captain?" He would have thought Jim would be there when he woke up. He wouldn't admit this, of course, but he's a bit hurt that he's not.

"Planetside, to continue negotiations."

"Negotiations? I would have thought those would be called off, seeing as there was an attempt on Jim's life, and all." If he could move, he would gesture to himself, but his limbs are suddenly heavy, his words are slurring together, just a touch.

M'Benga shrugs. "Apparently it was the work of a small terrorist organization."

Bones nods. It wouldn't be the first time a planet experienced internal conflict based around negotiating with the Federation, and it certainly wouldn't be the last. For some reason though, he can't remember one damn thing about this particular planet––not it's name, or quadrant, or the damn reason they're negotiating in the first time. He's losing touch with his thoughts and surroundings.

Bones attempts to glare at the other doctor. "What the hell did you give me?"

"Nothing. Just rest now, Leonard."

Begrudgingly, he does.

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TBC . . .

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**A/N: haha that was fast! hopefully ill be finished writing this by tonight. for some reason, I don't want to wait between posting parts. o well. that's okay (btw hurting bones is? fun? damn i should have done this a while ago)**

**anyway thank you so much for reading! feedback is much appreciated!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek. T for swearing.**

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What Bones doesn't know won't hurt him any more.

And what Bones doesn't know is that Jim stayed in the observation room while he was in surgery for the whole eight hours. He saw his damaged outsides, his damaged insides. He pressed himself to the glass when he carded––not once, but twice. He didn't sit. He didn't pace. He stood there, and waited, while the team of doctors patched him up.

He also stunned the shit out of the insect that shot him.

(Not kill, because he's a diplomat, and he didn't want to send this mission even further down the shit hole if he could help it.)

The inhabitants of the planet seemed benign enough. The Federation is interested in their mineral-rich planet and more so in their several equally abundant moons; one, in particular, may even contain dilithium, and everyone knows how nuts the Admiralty goes when dilithium is involved.

The negotiations had been going fine––well, planetary leaders want protection and technology, with a particular desire for medical facilities and medicine. Nothing too outlandish. Starfleet hadn't even known that there was an objective party.

Kirk should have known. There's always something, some xenophobic group or organization against Starfleet or the Federation. There should have been more rigorous background checks, more security––how was a delegate's assistant able to smuggle a big-ass gun into negotiations, anyway?

But Kirk knows that lingering on should-haves and what-ifs is a waste of time. Wondering what could have been doesn't make Bones any better.

His grip tightens on his communicator as he flips it shut. His CMO gained consciousness early yesterday and he hasn't gone to see him yet. Guilt pools in his stomach and he swallows tightly.

Yeah, Jim's an asshole. In his defense, however, he's been busy salvaging what he can out of these negotiations, meeting with both parties this time. It's been a slow, arduous business. Such is the life of a starship captain, he thinks as the transporter beam closes around him.

He steps off the transporter pad an instant later and steps into the corridor. Here he falters. It's the tail end of beta shift and he has gamma off. Every sense he has is telling him to go see Bones, go check if he's awake, go sit with his best friend in the whole damn universe who literally took a bullet for him and nearly _died_. His legs carry him down the hall, away from the turbolift, away from medical.

A corner later he nearly walks into his Communications officer.

"Captain!" She sounds surprised to see him.

"Sorry about that, Lieutenant," he says, trying to edge around her. "Please excuse me––" But Uhura is far too fast and far too smart for that. She effectively blocks Kirk's ways and stands firm in front of him, feet planted and arms crossed over her chest.

"Why haven't you been to see Leonard yet?" she asks, her tone strictly no nonsense.

"I've been busy," Kirk gestures about himself tiredly.

"Are you busy now?"

A sigh. "Well––"

"You're not on duty, I already checked."

"Well, I––"

''He's your best friend! Kirk, he _saved your life_!"

"I _know––_"

"Do you?" she asks seriously.

Kirk passes a hand in front of his face and nods. The past few days haven't been easy on him. He had to go one like it was business as usual while his best friend lay wounded and unconscious for three days. He takes a breath and rubs his eyes. Uhura presses a comforting hand to his shoulders. When he looks at her, her demeanor has softened.

"Go see Leonard," she says. "He's expecting me, so he'll be awake. You guys need to talk." She turns away and makes her way down the hall. He watches her go and knows she's right,

Swallowing tightly, he heads toward the turbolift.

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_TBC . . ._

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**A/N: A kind of weird place to leave off, I know, but I kind of like the tiny chapters but also it's 3 AM and I don't feel like putting effort into Bones's and Kirk's first scene together right now. But Soon. (tomorrow) (probably)**

**Thank you so much for reading! Feedback is always appreciated! 8)**


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek. T for swearing.**

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Jim wishes he was anywhere but here.

Anywhere. Really. Planetside. Delta Vega. Riverside County Jail. That one planetoid they visited last month with those three-foot wide spiders and raptor birds and mosquito-like insects the size of dinner plates. Anywhere but here, standing in the doorway to his best friend's sick room.

It's the first time he's seen Bones since surgery; he's in one piece, which is nice, his insides all where they belong and not leaking. Any evidence of surgery is covered by the thin blanket pulled to his collar bone, weighed down by his left arm, hooked up to an IV. The blanket rises and falls with each breath he takes, and despite the fact that his hazel eyes are closed, Jim know he isn't sleeping, not with any serious amount of depth, anyway.

God, he's pale. Paler than he has any right being. His face is sunken, just slightly, and he looks straight up _ill_. Jim's stomach churns. Bones doesn't get sick, he doesn't get hurt, he doesn't get colds or paper cuts or _anything. _It's Jim's job to fuck up and get hurt and have to be put back in one piece, not Bones. Never Bones.

It shouldn't have been Bones. The blast was meant for him, damn it, _he's_ the one who should be lying there.

Jim passes a hand in front of his face and actively tries not to panic. He shouldn't have come, damn it all to hell. He can't be here right now, he can't be here _ever_, he just can't. He's not strong enough for this.

Bones makes a soft sound and Jim almost flinches back into the primary bay, heart thudding in his chest louder than it has any right to be.

"Nyota?" An almost inaudible murmur. "Nyota, darlin'?"

Jim just stands and stares, eyes wide and completely unsure of what to do. A thought flits into his mind to just turn around and _run_, but he knows that Chapel and Uhura would tear him to bits for it. He's made it this far, he can't run, but oh, he wants to.

Bones cracks open a single hazel eye, peering blearily upwards. Surprise registers on his face for an instant and he blinks both eyes open. "Jim," he says, and clears his throat. "You're… you're not Nyota."

Can't argue with that. "No, sorry."

Bones stares at him evenly, brow creased, and Jim knows he's trying to figure out what to say.

"It's… been a long time, Jim." He brings his gaze back to the ceiling.

Jim cringes. He repeats his internal chant of wishing to be absolutely elsewhere. Against that feeling, he takes a step, then another, but stops three feet away from the bed. It feels like a mile. "Yeah," he hears himself say. "I––" He? He _what?_ He's been too busy to drop by? He's got a ship to run? He's too hung up and occupied that he couldn't stop in and see his best friend for five fucking minutes? "I'm sorry."

Bones makes a sound that seems like it may be a quiet snort. "The situation planetside that bad, huh?"

Jim's chest hurts. "I––Yeah, it was. Starfleet Command had to get involved." He takes a step closer.

"Hm. That is bad, isn't it."

"Yeah. You know how those Admirals can get about their dilithium. Took, ah, a bit of time to, uh, smooth things over."

"I'm sure it did."

Jim can barely hear him over the roar of blood in his ears. "Bones––" but at the same time:

"Jim––"

Jim takes a shaky breath and nods. Bones still won't look at him.

"I don't think I ask for a lot, Jim. I like to think I'm a pretty low-maintenance type of guy." Exhaustion weighs his voice down. "I know you're busy but I just––" He swallows and blinks heavily. "Five minutes, Jim. That's all I ever want."

"Bones it, it wasn't like that––"

"Then _how _was it like, Jim? I don't know what you've been doing for two days, but I know that I've been waitin' for you to show up for far too long."

"I couldn't do it, Bones." A quiet voice.

He frowns heavily and turns his head to stare directly at Jim. "Do _what?_"

"I couldn't just see you lying there and know that it was all my fault!" Jim's voice doesn't break. He doesn't let it break.

"How in the hell was this _your_ fault, Jim? It's not like you pulled the trigger."

"The blast was meant for me!" He's far too loud now, he's nearly yelling, gesturing widely with his arms. He's suddenly thankful for the separate room and the fact that they can't easily be overheard, but he's done it now, he really has; he can't go back. "You were hurt on my behalf, you almost _died!_ I watched them put you back together, Bones, and it almost wasn't enough. You shouldn't have to die for me, you shouldn't have been hurt at all. This crew is my responsibility, and that includes you, and no one should _ever _have to die in order to save their Captain––"

He's abruptly cut off by an increasingly angry Bones. "I didn't step in front of a bullet to save the Captain of the fucking _Enterprise_, I stepped in front of a bullet to save _Jim_ _Kirk_, my best friend in the whole God forsaken galaxy. You––You're the one person I couldn't even_ fathom_ a life without, Jim, and you know what? I've already had to do just that. I never want to do it again, damn it, that's why I stepped in front of the blast!" He's breathing heavily and has both his forearms pressed deep into the mattress, his head and shoulders just barely off his pillow. "Stop blaming yourself for once! There's nothing you could have done!"

Jim catches his bottom lip between his teeth. "Don't––" He swallows. "Don't _do_ that, okay? God, Bones, I almost lost you." He sounds impossibly small, like a child, nothing like Starfleet's golden boy or the uncrossable Captain of the _USS E_nterprise. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

Bones's face softens just a touch, but his expression is still unyielding. "How do you think _I_ feel, Jim? Every goddamn time you leave the ship I never know if you'll come back in one piece or not. And… it scares the shit out of me, it really does. I just think about how one day I might fuck up. I'll… I'll be too late, too slow, I'll be _wrong_––and don't say it won't ever happen, Jim, because you don't what's going to happen. The world doesn't behave a certain way just because you wish it."

"I'm sorry, Bones." His hands make tight fists at his sides.

"If you were sorry, you'd stop getting yourself into all these damn deadly situations." Bones raises a hand to stop Jim's objection before the kid could start spewing on about his job, his duty, or whatever. "I know you'll never stop trying to save the world, Jim; I'm not asking you to. I'm asking you to stop and think, now that you've been in my position. It's not… it's not about whether or not I _can_ put you back together every time you end up in some ridiculous situation, it's about what seeing you on that _fucking _operating table does to me." His voice cracks. Looking away, Bones lowers himself back onto the mattress, arms shaking with exertion. He's broken out in a sweat, his forehead shiny.

Jim closes the gap to his bed and takes Bone's hand in his own, running calloused fingers over white knuckles. "Bones…."

"You were the first friend I made in a damn long time, Jim. Everything went to shit, then I joined Starfleet, and that was shit, and then I met you and… and suddenly, things weren't shit anymore." He swallows and gives the hand in his a light squeeze. "And I'd do it again, y'know. I'd jump in front of a phaser a hundred times over for you. I'm never gonna stop saving your life, Jim."

Words unspoken hang in the air: _I'd rather be dead than have to live without you. _

Jim's eyes sting and ah, damn it.

He swoops down and presses his forehead against Bones's, clutches his hand, he feels his friend beneath him; solid, breathing, and _alive_––so brilliantly, brilliantly alive. He doesn't think about him carding on the operating table, he doesn't think about the way he collapsed into a bleeding, burning heat after taking the full brunt of the blast, he doesn't think about his eyes glazed over and lips shaking in pain. He thinks about the blood pumping through his veins by a tireless heart. He thinks about his thrumming pulse and slightly shallow, but present, breaths.

It's now or never, he thinks, and opens his mouth. "Bones, I––"

The door opens and head nurse Christine Chapel enters. "Um," she says, clearly not used to her Captain clasped in an intimate embrace with the ship's CMO (her _boss_), "am I interrupting something?"

Jim shoots up, ignoring the deep flush that has crept over his face. "Nurse Chapel," he says stiffly, casually straightening his uniform.

"Captain." She regards him with an arched eyebrow before stepping further in. Regarding the screen above the biobed, her eyes widen slightly. "You _have_ been stressing out my patient!"

"I wouldn't necessarily use the term 'stressing out'––"

"Chris, it's fine, I'm alright."

Indignant, she whirls on Bones. "It is _not_ fine, you are supposed to be calm and resting after intensive surgery, _Doctor _McCoy. Your heart rate is elevated far too high and may I remind you that you are recovering from a _collapsed lung_?" Before Bones can interrupt, she turns sharply to Jim, who looks like he'd rather deal with a hypo-wielding Bones. "Captain, I am afraid I must ask you to leave, and I will not ask again." She stands firm, arms crossed over her chest.

Jim looks desperately to Bones, who only gives him an apologetic expression. _Sorry,_ he mouths, and Jim nods, squaring himself to face Chapel. "Very well then. Sorry for any inconveniences, Nurse Chapel." He lightly brushes Bones's upper arm. "Feel better, Doctor McCoy."

Bones doesn't even try to hide his eye roll. "Thanks, Captain." He and Chapel watch Jim turn and leave without a glance back.

Annoyed, he turns his attention to Chapel. "It couldn't have waited?"

She lets his irritation roll right off. "He _was_ stressing you out, Len. What was so important, anyway?"

Bones just shakes his head. He's suddenly exhausted from the whole ordeal, limbs and eyelids heavy with fatigue. "I don't know, Chris," he says, turning his face into the pillow. "I don't know."

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_TBC . . . ._

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**A/N: This chapter was hard to write, and thus took a bit longer to post. I'm still not 100% satisfied, but I like it well enough. This story isn't beta'd, all mistakes are mine, and I know they're there. Feedback is greatly, greatly appreciated, especially since this chapter was so frustrating to write. I believe there'll be another chapter, to wrap the whole thing up. Maybe two. I have no idea what I'm doing. Can you tell?**

**Anyway, thank you so much for reading!**


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